


Reminisces and Fables

by al_fletcher, athenril_of_kirkwall (al_fletcher)



Series: Aether Effect (Clean) [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Hushed Whispers, F/M, Fables - Freeform, Fairy Tale Retellings, Friendship, Gen, Haven (Dragon Age), Prompt Fill, Reminiscing, Tumblr Prompt, War Table (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_fletcher/pseuds/al_fletcher, https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_fletcher/pseuds/athenril_of_kirkwall
Summary: Rivka and Solas talk about her past, and she makes a decision.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Lavellan & Solas
Series: Aether Effect (Clean) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074563
Kudos: 4
Collections: DA Drunk Writing Circle Prompt Fics





	Reminisces and Fables

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for "OC telling LI about their past".

Rivka stood over the map in the meeting room, with all its little counters and symbols, in particular the two which were lain over Redcliffe Castle, and the other on Therinfal Redoubt. As she looked from one to the other, deciding which course of action to take as concerned closing the Breach, she felt her fingertips stroke the long scar running down her temple, ending shortly above her right eyebrow.

So deeply engrossed in thought was she that she hadn’t heard Solas walk in, only noticing his presence when he spoke.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said, “But you appear as though you might need some advice, or simply to talk about your impending decision.”

“Solas,” she said warmly, looking up to greet him, “I suppose I do. Incidentally, just how long have you been standing there, watching me stare at tokens?”

“Not very,” he answered, “Merely long enough to note your tic.”

“My tic?”, Rivka asked.

“Merely that whenever you are deep in thought, you touch your right temple, and when the problem is of a specific nature, you run your finger along it,” he explained.

Rivka crossed her arms, asking, “Interesting. How often _do_ you look at my right temple and my fingertips, Solas?”

Some colour rising in his cheeks, he defended himself, saying, “Only…often enough to notice that it is a habit of yours. May I venture a guess, seeing as that is hardly a fresh one ascribable to your encounter with the Breach, or our exploits since then?”

“You hardly need to, Solas,” Rivka said. “I must’ve forgotten who I told it to before, but I simply fell on a riverbank whilst gathering herbs one day—”

Solas shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “A just-so story, and one that pins no responsibility onto anybody except your own childish clumsiness. If you’d allow me to give my opinion…”

Her eyes flashing with anger, Rivka turned to fully face Solas and closed the distance with him, spitting, “I beg your pardon?”

“Its origin is one of your most formative memories, Rivka,” he explained, “Which guides your thoughts so strongly that I could not help but catch glimpses in your restless sleep those few days after your recovery from the initial attempt to close the Breach.”

“You _dare_ —”

“I did not wish to pry, but I could not simply stand here and accept the sanitised version of your story,” Solas said, standing firm. “I can _guess_ from how you touch your temple whenever Ser Rutherford enters your vision or when you consider even the possibility of going to Therinfal Redoubt, or you might wish to save some time by clarifying its meaning.”

Her heart still thundering with rage, Rivka collected herself with several deep breaths, before saying, “Fine. It seems to me that keeping secrets from you is a pointless exercise. Just know that this anecdote has _never_ travelled beyond my clan before.”

“I understand, and I apologise for asking you this so forcefully. I merely thought that vocalising your thoughts might help you resolve your current dilemma.”

Sighing, Rivka sat back on the table. “I don’t know, maybe you’re right. Where to begin…? Well, I think I’ve mentioned before how as a First-in-training I was basically tending to the children, right?”

“Yes, hence your skill at telling the old fables.”

“Yeah, that,” Rivka said. “Once, about five years ago, I was trying to keep them occupied whilst the clan was out hunting when Templars from a nearby city came on a raid, hunting apostates or maleficars or whatever the shems call mages they don’t like. I told the children to run for the hills whilst I occupied one of them. He didn’t like that at all, and tried to kill me, spitting every curse he knew as he tried to carve me in two.”

Solas cast his eyes to the ground, saying, “Forgive me. I sensed the fear and pain in your memories of that scar, but hardly knew…”

Rivka shook her head. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago, and I suppose I’m glad I can finally tell someone here about it before getting corrected on how they must have been exceptions, or particularly ignorant, or whatever. I was still very raw as a mage back then, and could only put up a barrier a couple of times before he got in range, and we tumbled over the edge of a riverbank—that much is true about the version I tell people—and that’s when I struck my head against a rock.”

“I’m so sorry,” Solas muttered.

“It’s not as though you were him, Solas,” she said, continuing, “When I came to, I was being forced underwater, with my face up, thankfully. He was trying to drown me, probably while he was searching for his sword to finish the deed, but that didn’t last long at all—thank the Creators. The hunters from my clan had returned, and one of them got an arrow through his neck, and another one killed him. As that Templar fell down and I got my breath back, his helmet came off and I saw his face.”

“Oh?”, he asked, wondering what that detail’s significance was.

Rivka choked, holding back tears, before finishing, “He couldn’t have been a few years older than I was. He was barely a man, and whatever Circle he reported to had turned him into a zealous mage-killer—I don’t think they taught him the epithets, but at least most of the people spewing them aren’t killers. I want to tell that story to everyone I meet who thinks that the Templars can go back to doing good. It’s not even as though I harbour any resentment for Cullen in particular, I just hear it the most from him.”

Sighing empathetically, Solas stepped closer to her, saying, “You can imagine with the life I’ve eked out for myself that close encounters with Templars are no stranger to me either, although my experiences are perhaps not as vivid or perilous as yours.”

Looking up at him as she wiped her eyes dry, Rivka said, “Thank you. You were right, Solas. It _did_ feel good to get that off my chest.”

“And you are truly remarkable,” he said in return.

“What do you mean?”

Stroking the underside of his lip, he said, “The man was trying to murder you, and to this day you still feel sorry for his life…and his death. That takes a compassion scarce few people in this world have.”

“I think you give me too much credit,” she said. “It just seemed like such a waste. In another world he could have been here, at Haven…or maybe one of the hundreds we’ve killed in the Hinterlands…or in Therinfal right now. I don’t want to imagine, sometimes.”

“At any rate, this goes a long way in explaining your reluctance,” Solas said.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Rivka said, “Am I allowing my own personal experience to colour my judgement like this? Maybe Cullen’s got a point, but maybe he doesn’t.”

Thinking hard, Solas said, “Perhaps I might be able to help you there a little, with a story of my own.”

Perking up, Rivka asked, “Oh? What would that be?”

“Well, a parable told of Fen’Harel at any rate,” he said, smirking, “Who seems to be fast becoming your favourite stock villain.”

“I didn’t know you paid those fables much heed,” Rivka said, her curiosity piqued.

“They serve their purpose,” Solas said, “As do all stories, in their own way. Forgive me if my retelling isn’t quite as entertaining as yours are.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said with a smile.

“Very well,” he began,

> “The Dread Wolf had been feasting well upon a flock of august rams, but to his regret, he swallowed one’s remains rather too quickly and a small bone became caught in his throat. He was in pain and discomfort, being unable to eat or drink, and went from animal to animal to help his suffering, but they simply laughed and left him to his plight.
> 
> “Finally there was a heron by a riverbank, who asked him to promise her a reward should she help him, and he readily agreed, his pain being so onerous that he would do anything to alleviate it. She used her long beak and reached down his throat to fish the offending bone out, and having completed her task, turned to Fen’Harel and asked for her reward.
> 
> “Fen’Harel said to her, grinning with his teeth bared from ear to ear, ‘Your reward? Is it not enough reward that you have had your head between the jaws of the Dread Wolf and lived to tell the tale?’”

Rivka’s brows pinched towards each other, as she said, “I think I’ve heard that one before. Is it not the moral of the story that the heron’s being greedy for what should ultimately be an act of charity?”

Solas clasped his hands, leaning by his side on the table. “That certainly is a valid interpretation. But consider this other one: The powerful have no reason to reward the weak for their help with such inconveniences, terrible as they may be, once it is lifted and their power is restored.”

Casting her gaze at the marker which lay atop the Templar stronghold on the map, she asked, “Are you likening the Templars to the Dread Wolf then?”

“Hardly,” Solas said casually. “Merely that there is no guarantee that there will not be another Templar like your assailant, nor an elf like you at his mercy, ten or even twenty years down the road, regardless of what course of action you choose.”

“Is your opinion of them that low?”, she asked.

“Low?”, he retorted. “I think that’s positively optimistic. It appears, however, that by dint of your mark that the decision falls to you and who can help seal the Breach more effectively…well, I must have taken up far too much of your time by now.”

“Not at all,” she said, returning to his gaze. “Thank you, Solas. For hearing me out, and for your advice. I think I know what to do.”

“I’m very happy to hear that,” he said, departing the chantry.

Rivka turned back to the table, sweeping some of the tokens off it and peering at the one marking Redcliffe Castle with a new determination, making her decision.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: https://athenril-of-kirkwall.tumblr.com/post/639160349877239808/


End file.
